


Mystery at Midnight

by StillNotGinger10



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Barry raised in foster care, Cinderella AU, M/M, Thief Barry, olivarryweek2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-13 18:45:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15370971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StillNotGinger10/pseuds/StillNotGinger10
Summary: When Barry Allen finds himself in Starling City after another dead end chasing the impossible, he just wants to get back to Central as fast as he can to see the S.T.A.R. Labs particle accelerator being turned on. But Barry spent most of his money getting to Starling in the first place. When he hears about a party being held at Queen mansion, what's a simple thief to do but sneak in and try to steal himself a ticket home?





	Mystery at Midnight

**Author's Note:**

> My entry for Olivarry Week's day 6 (fairytale/Disney). A Cinderella AU! 
> 
> This takes place during Barry's appearance in Arrow, though events are very au. I may have made some mistakes with the order of events, but it's au so just go with it.

Once upon a time, there lived a boy named Barry Allen.

Barry was born to good parents and had a good childhood. He was completely ordinary except for the fact that he had a good heart. He always wanted to help others and never backed down from doing what was right.

He might have gotten those traits from his parents. They were good people. They didn’t deserve what happened to them.

When Barry was eleven, his mother was killed in front of him. The police blamed his father, who had only tried to help his wife, and they ignored Barry’s cries that a man wearing all yellow and wrapped in lightning was responsible. It was too outlandish, too surreal, too similar to the magic found in fairytales and Fantasy novels. It wasn’t real.

That’s what they told Barry as they shipped him off to a foster home. He didn’t know what he saw. His father was guilty.

Barry didn’t believe them though. Every day, he looked for signs of the supernatural. Bigfoot, UFOs, and anything else out of the ordinary caught his attention. And as soon as he graduated high school, he ran away from his latest foster house and went to travel the world.

He did anything he needed to to fund his search. He learned to pick pockets and locks to find the money he needed for food and shelter and travel.

And one day, years later when Barry was twenty-four, he found himself investigating a case of the supernatural in Starling. It ended up being a dead end, just like all of his quests to find something related to his mother’s murder. And Barry’s next stop was Central City, his original home.

S.T.A.R. Labs was going to be turning on the particle accelerator soon, and Barry wanted to be there to see it. Even if it wouldn't help with him clear his father’s name, it was still interesting. For as much as Barry obsessed about the stuff of legends and myths, he still loved science, and he wanted to be a part of such a monumental scientific moment.

But train tickets were expensive, and Barry would need a big score to afford one.

Luckily, he’d heard that Oliver Queen, resident billionaire, was having a party. There’d be so many people in his manor that he wouldn't notice one more. All Barry needed was a suit.

It was only too easy to pick the lock of a store after dark and let himself in. They didn’t have a suit that fit him perfectly, but with some black socks he doubted anyone would notice that the pants were a little too short.

He was just picking out some shoes when he heard the door open.

“Hold on,” he heard a voice say as he hid behind a rack of neatly polished shoes. “Why’s this door open?”

Two men entered the store, the second one more reluctantly than the first. The lights came on and Barry nearly groaned knowing that he might get caught. Damn. They looked like police. If he were going to be caught, why couldn't it be by the Arrow he’d heard rumors about. At least seeing him up close would have been worth it.

“Come on, Lance, there’s nothing here,” the second man said.

Barry carefully slid back, praying that the first man, Lance, would listen, but just as Lance was turning to go, Barry bumped against a shoebox. The noise it made wasn’t loud, but it was enough to get the man’s attention. He whipped back around and started towards Barry’s hiding place.

Barry didn’t need another signal to go. He grabbed the nearest box of shoes, shoved it under his arm with the suit and socks, and sprinted for the back door.

“Stop! Starling PD,” Lance shouted as he gave chase, but Barry wasn’t about to slow down much less stop completely. He sprinted down alley after alley with the men right on his tail until he came to a fence. Without hesitating, Barry lunged forward and upward, clambering over the fence as quickly as he could. When he felt hands at his ankles, he kicked back. The clothes were slowing him down, so Barry tossed them over the fence, hoping they wouldn't get too dirty, before jumping over himself.

He landed on the other side, grabbed the clothes, and took off again in one fluid movement. He ran and ran, even when he didn’t hear anyone behind him anymore. Barry took a long route back to his hotel, winding through alleys and streets to avoid detection. He finally reached the door of the cheap motel and slammed it behind him once he was inside.

Safe. And the suit was only a little wrinkled. Barry hung it up in the closet, hoping the wrinkles would come out overnight. Trying on the shoes showed that they were a little big, but they’d work well enough, so he put them in the closet too.

He’d been lucky to get away, and to get everything he needed in one stop. It shouldn't be too difficult for him to avoid those police officers in such a big city. Hopefully, his luck would hold out and not only would he not get caught, but he’d also be able to easily get in and out of Queen’s manor with a good steal and without being noticed.

* * *

 

The next night, Barry made his way into Queen manor in his stolen suit and shoes. He smiled at those that made eye contact with him, skirted around the bigger groups to avoid too much attention, and did everything he could to act like he belonged.

Something Barry had learned long ago was that you could get in almost anywhere with the right attitude. So, he kept his head up, his gate even and confident, and barely spared a glance for the servers around him, just like all of the rich and famous people crowded around him.

He spent an hour eating the food—another thing Barry had learned: never pass up free food—and mingling without talking to too many people. He couldn't just grab something and go, that’d be suspicious. Besides, the party was fun and the food was never-ending, why would he rush leaving?

He was in line at the bar, waiting for his turn to get another glass of champagne when a glass was held out in front of him from someone on his right. Turning, Barry almost dropped the glass he was grabbing at the sight. It was Oliver Queen.

The man throwing the damn party, the one that Barry should be trying most to avoid, was standing right next to him, smiling that charming smile that looking as annoyingly handsome as it did in the tabloids, and handing Barry champagne. Dammit.

Trying his best to affix a smile to his blanched face, Barry turned to Oliver and followed him away from the line.

“Forgive me,” Oliver said, as they walked a short distance away, “but I don’t think I know your name.”

“That’s because it’s not as impressive as yours,” Barry said, dodging the question. If he were lucky he’d be able to dodge the whole conversation. “Everyone knows who you are, Mr. Queen.”

“Call me Oliver, please.”

“Alright, Oliver. Thanks for the drink,” Barry said as he held up the glass.

“Of course,” Oliver said, looking confused for a moment before his smile turned amused. “You still haven’t told me your name.”

“Haven’t I?”

“No,” Oliver said with a chuckle. “And I’m starting to think you haven’t told me on purpose.”

“How else am I supposed to keep your interest, Oliver?” Barry asked. This was a new way to keep from having to give his name. He didn’t mind lying, but that didn’t mean he wouldn't avoid it if he could. Barry always preferred twisting the truth to outright lying.

Oliver didn’t look bothered by what Barry said; he looked more amused and intrigued than anything. “You’ve done a good job so far,” Oliver said. “You’ve had my eye from across the room for a while now.”

Barry had drawn his attention without even realizing it? That wasn’t good. Not at all.

“Oh really?” Barry asked, trying his best to hide how much his heart was racing. “Why is that?”

Oliver leaned in close, close enough that Barry could smell his cologne—dammit he even smelled good, why did some guys have all the luck—and just when Barry thought Oliver Queen was about to tell him he was caught and about to be arrested, the man said, “Because no one in this room looks as amazing as you do tonight.”

What—?

Not only was that not what Barry expected, it wasn’t even in the realm of answers he thought possible. He caught Oliver Queen’s attention not because he snuck in or was a thief, but because he looked good in his suit? In his wrinkled, stolen, slightly too small suit?

Was he lying? Either way, Barry definitely wasn’t giving him his name.

He hadn’t even realized he’d adverted his gaze until Oliver leaned over to catch his eye, saying, “So do I get to know the name of the most handsome man in the room?”

Barry laughed. What a line. “I think his name’s Oliver Queen. Ask anyone.”

Oliver shook his head, his amused smile not faltering for a second. “Are you really not going to tell me your name?”

“No, I think I like being a mystery,” Barry said before taking a drink of his glass.

“Well, you’re definitely succeeding at being one,” Oliver said before glancing out at the dancers moving along the floor. “Do mysteries dance?”

“What?” Barry asked as Oliver plucked the drink from his hand and put both of their glasses down on a nearby table.

“Come on. It’s my party, so you can’t deny me,” Oliver said as he took Barry’s hand and lead him towards the dance floor. “Besides, I heard from a reliable source that I’m the most handsome man in the room, so why wouldn't you want to dance with me?”

“Wait, I—” before Barry could think of a good excuse, he was swept into strong arms and pressed against a hard chest. The rich scent of cologne grew stronger as Oliver led him in a dance that was perfectly in time with the music.

Great. Barry was never going to be able to sneak out at this rate.

But as the song continued, they started talking. They danced to another and another, then they ate together. They laughed together. And hours later Barry had completely forgotten that he’d meant to leave Oliver as soon as he could. It was difficult to think past Oliver, the music, and his buzz from the alcohol.

At least, it was until he saw Lance, the man from his break in the night before headed their way.

“Haven’t I earned your name yet?” Oliver asked, still smiling and oblivious to the panic now coursing through Barry.

“You have,” Barry said, distracted, as he stood from where they’d taken a seat. “It’s Cinderella,” he said as he looked into Oliver’s confused, ridiculously stunning eyes.

“What—” Oliver started, but Barry cut him off.

“And its midnight, so I have to go.”

He heard Oliver call out for him to wait but he didn’t slow down, didn't stop, didn't even turn back. Because he also heard Lance screaming, “Stop him.”

Just like the night before, he ran. As fast as he could, Barry ran out the front door, down the steps, and down the driveway, not even slowing as one of his too big shoes fell off.

He kept up his uneven run down the street, through an alley, and onto a waiting bus. No one was behind him by then, and he finally relaxed as he slumped down in the nearest empty seat. His breath was heaving out of him. He’d almost been caught and all he could think about was that he’d never get to see Oliver again.

Barry banged his head back against the window as the bus began to move. He hadn’t even grabbed anything before he left. All of that effort and he was still going to miss the accelerator being turned on.

He was such an idiot. Barry banged his head back again and pretended his eyes were watering from the pain and nothing else. He’d been so distracted by a charming smile and sweet cologne that he’d missed his one shot. Pretty things and people had never distracted him before, but that night, Oliver Queen and his stupidly handsome looks and his unreasonably charming, funny, interesting personality had distracted Barry from his entire plan and almost gotten him caught.

Barry hung his head in his hands and spent the rest of the silent bus ride mentally cursing Lance, Oliver, and mostly himself.

* * *

 

Watching the coverage of S.T.A.R. Labs on the crummy motel TV was the best Barry could hope for. He just needed to get it to pick up the news from Central City as more than just static.

The accelerator wasn't going to be turned on until that night, so Barry decided to spend the day fixing the TV. After a couple of hours at work, Barry was able to increase the antenna enough that he could mostly see the Labs being broadcasted on the screen. There was still plenty of static and the audio wasn’t very clear, but he thought he could fix that if he played with it a little more. What he had at the moment was better than nothing though. Beggars can’t be choosers, as they say.

Barry sighed, knowing he could have been there to see it in person if only he’d focused.

A knock at the door had him frowning. He’d hung up the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign so that housekeeping would know not to come in. The last thing he needed was the motel charging him extra for messing with their television.

“Thanks, but I don’t need—” he started saying before he had the door completely open.

Which was a mistake, as Oliver was on the other side.

Oliver Queen was outside his motel room.

He should slam the door. He should—

He should…

…do anything besides just stare.

And yet, that’s all Barry did.

Oliver, at least, still had his voice. “When you said you were Cinderella, I didn’t really expect you to leave a shoe,” he said while holding up Barry’s missing dress shoe.

“It was too big,” Barry said before he’d even realized he meant to speak. It was possibly the dumbest thing he’d ever said, but how exactly was he supposed to think of words and string them together into coherent sentences when _Oliver Queen_ was at his door?

“So, I guess having you try it on to make sure it fits won’t work,” Oliver said with the same amused smile he’d worn the night before.

Finally, _finally_ , Barry was able to think enough to ask, “How did you find me?”

“I’m good at finding people,” Oliver said with a little shrug.

What the hell was that supposed to mean? This was the guy that Barry had found so enchanting, intriguing, distracting the night before?

But as Barry watched him standing in his doorway, looking every bit as amazing in a tee shirt and jeans as he had in a suit, he couldn't deny that he was still all of those things.

Oliver tossed him the shoe, and Barry only caught it out of instinct.

“Come on, Cinderella,” Oliver said, waving with his now empty hands. “Grab your stuff. Our train to Central leaves soon.”

“Our what now?” Barry asked, dumbfounded.

“Our train. You said you wanted to see the accelerator, didn’t you? What did you expect? To run there?”

“I—but—” Barry had talked about the accelerator some the night before—okay, maybe more than just some—but he hadn’t said he planned to see it. He definitely hadn’t asked Oliver to take him there.

“Hurry up, Barry. We don’t want to be late,” Oliver said before turning and walking away. “I’ll wait in the car,” he called over his shoulder before opening the door to the backseat of a shiny, expensive, too nice for Barry to even look at much less touch car.

“How—How do you know that?” Barry called after him before whispering, “Who the hell are you?”

Oliver laughed before calling back, “I like solving mysteries,” and climbing into the car.

It was one thing to solve mysteries, it was another to find out Barry’s name and hotel after only a few hours together at a party.

It looked like Barry wasn’t the only one that was a mystery, and Oliver Queen wasn’t the only one that liked to solve them.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! If you saw any grammar/spelling mistakes, feel free to let me know! :D


End file.
